


i will

by platonics



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking to Cope, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Killing Game Was A Virtual Reality Simulation (Dangan Ronpa), Late at Night, Model Shinguji Korekiyo, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Other, Partying, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonics/pseuds/platonics
Summary: and we're not out of the tunnel. i bet you though there's an end."If Iruma were here, she'd probably say they turned into a himbo, or something like that. The thought didn't amuse her."
Relationships: Shinguji Korekiyo & Yumeno Himiko, Shinguji Korekiyo/Yumeno Himiko
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	i will

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the virtual is going in the way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504824) by [niebieskameliska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niebieskameliska/pseuds/niebieskameliska). 



> whew, okay, so the fic this was inspired by kinda ripped my heart out and stomped on it, and i just knew i had to do something with a post-game world so different from what i usually go with. especially korekiyo being a model and just kinda getting absorbed into that lifestyle,,, wow. i loved it and needed to put my broken heart back together a little. that said, this kinda drifted off in a different direction than what i first planned but?? here we are. 
> 
> this isn't quite as angsty as the tags make it seem, but there still are some warnings to mind. the suicidal thoughts are brief, and everything else is pretty much just implied or not explored in much detail, as the tags indicate. brief mention of saimatsu, and miu is kinda there, but not enough to warrant being tagged. korekiyo uses they & he pronouns. 
> 
> title & lyrics in the summary are both from i will by mitski

The music was so loud it made her teeth ache. Her brain was thick with fog, body moving in slow motion through the crowd. Between the flashing lights and the fact that Himiko felt entirely disconnected from her own actions, it was like the whole room was coated in a heavy Gaussian blur. All the people around her were faceless, formless, and moving way too quickly. Sights, sounds, smells, it was all too much. Someone elbowed her in the side. Another someone stepped on her foot. She mumbled an inaudible ‘excuse me’ and continued on.

She hated this stupid party, and this stupid club, and the stupid optimism that dragged her out of her house that night. She’d be having a much better time unconscious in bed, not being stood up by Iruma. 

Himiko wasn’t even friends with Iruma. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw her. Probably some sort of official Danganronpa event. But Iruma texted her earlier, telling her about this exclusive party that they could totally get into, and how fun it would be to go out and have a girls’ night, as if they’d ever willingly hung out before. It was obvious that Iruma must have run out of other people to ask, but in a moment of temporary insanity, Himiko said yes anyway. 

Now here she was, standing alone in a club and getting more overwhelmed by the second, because Iruma couldn’t be bothered to actually show up.

Having maneuvered her way to a spot against the wall where she wouldn’t be in the way, she fished her phone out of her pocket, checking to see if Iruma texted her. She didn’t. Glowing up at her were just Himiko’s own messages from earlier.

(23:17) Yumeno Himiko: On my way now, hbu?

(23:34) Yumeno Himiko: Uh im here where are u

(23:34) Yumeno Himiko: ?

(23:41) Yumeno Himiko: Iruma?? Are you coming?

She scoffed. No response whatsoever, not even the sort of lewd joke Iruma never would’ve passed up the chance to make, back when they were on the show. That wasn’t the real Iruma anyway, thank God, but Himiko would still take that over nothing. What was she supposed to do now? She sure as hell didn’t want to stay here alone, but just...leaving and going home, accomplishing nothing but wasting time almost sounded worse. 

(00:23) Yumeno Himiko: Forget it. Don’t bother

At least nobody recognized her yet. She’d changed her look quite a bit from the one imposed on her during the killing game, but that didn’t stop her from getting harassed on the rare occasions she went outside.

Maybe she could just stay and drink. That was a thought. Only she’d need some Xanax to sleep later, and you weren’t really supposed to mix alcohol and benzos, she knew that. Himiko did kind of want to die, but that didn’t stop her from being scared about the idea of it actually happening. That paranoid part of her brain seized her, arguing that it might be fine, but it also might not, so maybe she shouldn’t.

Maybe she ought to sit down somewhere and think about it more. She must have stepped in something, because every time she took a step, there was an unpleasant sensation of her sneakers unsticking from the floor, and then sticking again. Gross. 

At least most of the men weren’t giving her a second glance, she thought as she wound her way around the periphery, trying to find a spot to sit. Why would they, when there were literal models around? 

Models. Hm. The word tickled at the back of her brain, like she forgot something important. It wasn’t anything strange — celebrity parties like this were always packed with models. So why did it feel so urgent, making her all tense and twitchy? Models. There were models here. Lots of them, laughing and dancing and drinking. Well, whatever. It probably didn’t matter.

She found a mostly-empty sofa near the edge of the room and sat down at the opposite end from its only other occupant. Tight pants, fashionably baggy shirt, skeletal frame. Long, dark hair obscuring their profile. Bright red acrylic nails tapping against the half-full glass in their hand. Scuffed-up combat boots, which really didn’t match the rest of the look they had going on, but who was she to judge?

After she looked away from the stranger, idly picking at a tear in her fishnets, Himiko heard a voice far too close for comfort. It could only belong to the other person on the couch, who must have moved way closer without her noticing.

“Oh, Yumeno-san.” Exactly what she always hated to hear. The voice was slightly slurred, tone almost singsong as it said her name. Drunk fans were the worst. Her whole body tense, she prepared to get up and leave. Perhaps that was why she didn’t notice anything else about the voice, like how familiar it was. “Sorry, I’ll go. I’ll just go.” Then, from a little further away and higher up, suggesting that the owner of the voice was now struggling to their feet, “Yumeno-san...can’t stand the sight of me.”

That was what made her finally turn and look. Sure enough, it was the stranger on the couch. Or...not-stranger, as she realized, dread pooling in her stomach. As soon as she looked up, she met Shinguuji Korekiyo’s bright amber eyes.

“Shinguuji,” Himiko managed to croak out, limbs boneless. She couldn’t get up and walk away now if she wanted to. Then, since she was already stating the obvious, she added, “You’re wasted.”

“What’s your point?” If it wasn’t obvious already, their petulant tone would have been more than enough to prove her right. It bordered on alarming. Mid-trial panic aside, because pretty much anyone would lose it a little knowing they were going to die soon, Shinguuji was always one of the most stoic, serious people she knew. Even while recovering in the hospital, that part of them seemed mostly unchanged. Now, however...

“Nothing,” she muttered, crossing her arms. The experience of being loomed over like this was one she hadn’t had in awhile. She forgot how intimidating it could be. Oddly enough, Shinguuji was scarier like this than in the killing game. “Just noticing that the rumors are true. And to think, some people said you had nowhere to go but up.” Himiko knew there were lots of models here. Pretty, vacuous models, treated as eye candy and nothing more. She knew they were a model now. She saw them in ads sometimes, even though she tried not to. She hadn’t seen Shinguuji in years though, and knowing all those things was different from seeing the proof right in front of her. 

“Yes, well. I don’t see why my lifestyle matters to you.” They pouted slightly, an expression that would look more at home on Ouma or Angie. It felt so wrong that she could even _see_ their expression, but if you made money off your face, she supposed you couldn’t make a habit of hiding it. Clearly making a conscious effort to stay upright, they took a sip of their drink, leaving a red lipstick stain on the glass. Suddenly, Himiko had a stomach ache. 

Slowly, they sank back down onto the sofa next to her. Apparently they didn’t care about her lack of response.

“You look nice,” they said, free hand reaching over to brush her hair out of her face for her. Without meaning to, she leaned into their touch. “You’re never in the news though. Are you doing okay?” They were one to talk, doing nothing but mindlessly drifting from photoshoot to party to photoshoot, fake grin pasted on all the while. If Iruma were here, she’d probably say they turned into a himbo, or something like that. The thought didn’t amuse her.

“Why does it matter?” Himiko asked, throwing their own question back at them. “Why would you care how I’m doing?” Shinguuji frowned again, staring deeply into her eyes. Their hand dropped from her face to her leg and rested there, warm above her knee. 

“You’re angry at me,” they said bluntly, sounding almost like their old self for a moment. “Have I done something to upset you, Yumeno-san?”

_The last time she interacted with them one on one was in the hospital. Her nightmares were horrible back then — they still were, if she tried to sleep without meds. She woke up screaming, and Shinguuji came to check on her._

_They talked about things. Not everything, but enough to make a start. Enough to make Himiko more comfortable around them, coupled with their surprisingly impressive skill at comforting her. She was hopeful that they might really be able to grow close. That night, she fell asleep in their arms, and for the first time in weeks, slept without nightmares. By the time she woke up the next day, they’d been discharged, not leaving so much as a note or phone number behind._

“You left.” No point in beating around the bush. They were still staring at her, like she was a math problem they couldn’t quite figure out.

“I left,” they echoed, uncertain, and the implication that they didn’t even remember was worse than if they outright told her it didn’t matter. “I’m not sure I...” 

“Forget it,” she said, cutting them off. “It was a long time ago anyway.” 

Before Shinguuji could respond, their conversation was interrupted. Still stewing, Himiko watched as an unfamiliar girl who looked to be about their age sat down on Shinguuji’s other side. She leaned close to them, saying something that Himiko couldn’t hear over the music, and they slowly nodded once, twice. They shot her an apologetic smile as they got up, and the girl dragged them off.

She really ought to cut her losses and just leave now, night even more spoiled than before. But after that encounter, it felt like an insurmountable effort. If only she could be whisked away with a magic spell.

She took a quick glance around the vicinity, and didn’t see Shinguuji anywhere. Their drink was still sitting on the table in front of her, lonely and unattended. Himiko downed the rest of it, thinking they owed her at least that after all they put her through. 

The little voice in her head that sounded like Ouma taunted her about indirect kisses. Nobody was around to see her blush.

She checked her phone again. Still nothing from Iruma. Nothing from anyone else either, not that she expected anything.

Time stretched out like a rubber band about to snap. Nothing felt real in a place like this. This was the longest she’d been away from home in months. Every so often, someone sat down near her, but they always left quickly, like her very aura was repellant. Nobody knew who she was.

She didn’t know why she was still there. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking respite from the flashing lights, and in the darkness, she saw Shirogane smiling. They were all still trapped.

It was past two when Shinguuji wandered back alone. Himiko had zoned out, not even noticing their presence until they were next to her again, even closer than last time. Her knee bumped against theirs, and she turned to look at them, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m so glad you stayed. I wanted to finish our talk. Really, I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” they said earnestly.

“I wasn’t waiting for you,” she lied. “I just happened to still be here.”

“It’s just, that was my photographer, and she wanted some casual shots for Instagram, and they have to be perfect, so it really takes a while, and...” They kept talking, but Himiko didn’t even pretend to listen. Clearly her earlier assessment was wrong. Compared to now, Shinguuji might as well have been stone cold sober then.

“Okay, whatever,” she said, shrugging off the hand that had found its way to her shoulder. “Like I said, I wasn’t waiting for you, so it really doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Okay. I just don’t want you to be mad at me,” they slurred. “But I know you hate me, and Chabashira and Yonaga hate me, and everyone else hates me. I left because I thought it was better for you. I...I never intended to hurt you.”

“I wanted you to stay though,” Himiko said softly, only because she had her doubts about whether they’d remember this in the morning. “I don’t hate you.”

“I’m better now,” they continued, on too much of a roll to stop. “People like me. People want to _be_ like me. Sometimes they forget about Danganronpa now, when they look at me.” At some point during this little monologue, they’d ended up in something of an awkward position. Shinguuji’s head leaned against her shoulder, breath warm against her neck. One of their arms stretched over to hold her opposite hand, fingers interlocked. They smelled like fruity vodka and expensive cologne, and some of their hair ended up down her shirt. Her shirt that they were probably smearing makeup all over. It was pathetic. Himiko couldn’t bring herself to push them away. She just let them continue to ramble without fully listening, occasionally making noises of acknowledgment.

The alleged photographer made her reappearance, and Himiko glared at her before Shinguuji could notice. 

“Oh! You must be Yumeno-chan, from Danganronpa!” the photographer chirped, giving her one of the fakest smiles she’d ever seen. “Sorry to bother you, but I need to steal Kore-chan from you real quick. I’m sure you’re aware of how popular he is.”

“No,” she replied, surprising even herself. “I think ‘Kore-chan’ is done for tonight, thanks.” After going off into what was probably twenty minutes’ worth of nonsensical tangents, they’d quieted down, still leaning on her, and Himiko thought they might have dozed off by now. 

“But he has to—” Or maybe they were partially awake after all, she thought, feeling their grip tighten on her hand.

“ _No_ ,” she said again. “It’s almost 3:00, and I doubt whatever you want is urgent. Go away.” 

Miraculously, she did, but with an offended little huff that suggested she’d be back to try again in a few minutes. Better not to be there when she did. The atmosphere was giving Himiko a splitting headache as it was — she wanted to leave hours ago. Not that there was anything stopping her, of course, but it felt wrong, somehow, to abandon Shinguuji here.

“Thanks,” they mumbled into the crook of her neck, and she nodded. 

“C’mon,” she said, gently elbowing them in the side. She was sore all over from supporting their slumped-over weight like this for so long. “Wouldn’t you rather just get out of here? Let me take you home.”

“No,” they said and immediately recoiled, displaying the most energy she’d seen from them all night. But was that...a glint of fear in their eyes? Why? Himiko frowned, confused. “No, that’s not part of my job,” they continued petulantly, adjusting their rumpled shirt. “I’ve told her before, I won’t—” 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she exclaimed, not letting them finish. All of a sudden, it had dawned on her, fearful reaction and all, and now she didn’t feel well for a completely different reason. “I just meant...I think you should get home and rest. And you’re not really in any shape to go by yourself, so let me take you to be sure you get there safely. Or...if you want to come to my place, that’s fine too. Whatever you prefer.”

Their body relaxed slightly, and they nodded.

“Yeah, alright. Yours is fine.”

* * *

Getting Shinguuji back to her house in this state was an ordeal to say the least, but finally, they arrived. Though Himiko still lived with her father, he was out of town for the week, so there was no danger of being interrupted. It was just the two of them.

Quietly, she watched them wander around, lingering in the shadows like a wraith until she ushered them in the direction of her bedroom. It was shamefully messy, so much so that her face went hot the instant she nudged them through the doorway. There was laundry piled on the floor, and dust gathering on shelves and window sills. The small trash can in the corner was in danger of overflowing. Her bed was unmade, sheets rumpled. Still, it seemed better than making them sleep on the tiny couch in the living room, far too short for their lanky frame.

“Sorry, it’s a mess,” she mumbled, discreetly snatching the pill bottle from her nightstand. 

“I don’t care.” They shrugged, patted the top of her head. Himiko made a face, but didn’t tell them off like she used to when Chabashira did the same thing. “I’m not that organized myself anymore.” The air felt heavier now. She nodded, taking a step away.

“I’ll go get you some water,” she murmured, suddenly desperate to escape. She counted the creaks of her footsteps on the stairs as she descended towards the kitchen, waiting. Shinguuji didn’t follow her. Good. 

Himiko entered the kitchen and flicked on the light, trying to calm her racing thoughts. When she opened the cupboard to get a glass, she noticed that the shiny new Saimatsu wedding invitation had disappeared from the front of the fridge. Had her father taken it down before he left? Well, that was a mystery for later. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to go anyway. She pushed it out of her head and poured some water for Shinguuji. For herself, she held her hair back and drank directly from the faucet, just enough to take her pill.

The Xanax bottle was safely set aside, and before she went back upstairs, she grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen instead. Shinguuji would probably want it in the morning.

When she returned to her room, they were sprawled across her bed, on top of the rumpled blankets. Himiko might have thought they were asleep if not for the invitation in their hand, directly above their face so they could read it without sitting up. She raised an eyebrow, halfheartedly kicked their discarded boots out of the way to avoid tripping on them. She set the water and pills on the nightstand, and then paused, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I believe Saihara-kun has changed more than any of us,” they said, voice rough with tiredness. “Although I don’t recall seeing that spark of cruelty in Akamatsu-san either. I wasn’t invited to the wedding, you know.” 

“Don’t talk about Saihara,” she said, stepping close enough to snatch the invitation out of their hand. “Please.” They smiled up at her, a big cat stalking its prey.

“Humanity truly is awful sometimes, isn’t it?”

She knew what they were referring to, thanks to a little recollection of their talk in the hospital, and a little simple observation. In a way, the two of them had the same problem, with very different presentations. They had many similarities, in fact, despite seeming so different on the surface. This one, in particular, came back to the way they each felt like the same people they were in the killing game.

Himiko had grown attached to Saihara and Harukawa, her fellow survivors. They were brave and reliable, her precious friends. They were so _good_ , back in Danganronpa, and she needed to remember that when she saw their selfish, unrecognizable shells on her Twitter feed. 

Shinguuji, despite their brash claims to the contrary, had been afraid of their sister. She made their life a nightmare, molding them as she saw fit. It was obvious in the way they flinched and stopped anyone from getting too close, in the way they repressed their emotions much like Himiko herself (when they were sober, anyway). It didn’t matter that in the real world, they were an only child. Fake or not, the damage had been done.

Real, fake. Good, bad. Both of them were caught in between.

“Yeah,” she agreed belatedly, gazing down at the glossy photos of Saihara and Akamatsu. Fake engagement, real thirst for power. “Awful.”

“I wish I could still see the beauty in it,” they said, staring up at her ceiling. “A society that would do such cruel things. It’s still interesting, certainly, but good? Beautiful?”

“People are kinda the worst.” Himiko crossed her arms, watching them.

“Perhaps. I don’t think you’re the worst though, Yumeno-san.”

“Mm. Yeah. I don’t think you’re the worst either, Shinguuji.” She set the invitation down next to the Ibuprofen bottle. Before she turned to go, she pulled the blankets up over them, seized by a burst of affection.

“Sometimes I fear I’ll wake up in her clutches again,” they said quietly, sounding as if they were already dozing off. “Hearing her voice, feeling her touch.” Himiko didn’t dare look back at them. It felt like it would be an outrageous violation of privacy to do so.

“I know,” she said, equally quiet. “You won’t though. I’ll leave the hall light on.”

* * *

“My apologies for any inconvenience I may have caused. There was no need for you to go out of your way to help me.” 

Shinguuji’s voice cut through the haze of her early morning sleepiness. From where they stood in front of the window, the sunlight appeared to wreathe around them like a very ironic halo. It stung Himiko’s tired eyes, and she blinked, yawning.

“Uh, yeah, it’s fine,” she mumbled. “Wasn’t a big deal.” Last night seemed like a dream now that she was looking at them in daylight. Her restless few hours of sleep on the couch probably didn’t help matters. 

“I must admit, my memories of last night are rather fuzzy, but I doubt it was all as effortless as you claim. And regardless, considering the...terms we last parted on, I wouldn’t expect you to so much as speak to me.” They stood there in front of her as if waiting for her to get upset at them, still in their wrinkled clothes from the night before, and Himiko vividly remembered how it felt to have them pressing up against her at the club, and then, later, how it felt to tuck them into her bed. All the affection she’d never gotten enough of herself.

She never would have guessed how rewarding it would feel to be the one giving it instead. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Really, don’t mention it,” she said, idly waving a hand. “But...are you happy living like this?” 

For a long moment, they were silent. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. This was more like the Shinguuji she remembered from the hospital. There, they were mostly silent, almost catatonic at times. Slowly, Himiko scooted over on the couch, making room for them to sit next to her. They did, delicately tucking a lock of hair behind their ear.

“I thought I was, for awhile. Nonetheless, it doesn’t matter. Someone like me doesn’t have many other prospects.” As they spoke, they pulled something out of their pocket. At first it just looked like a nondescript piece of black fabric, but then they began to unfold it, and she recognized it as a mask. Nothing so...unique as what they wore in the game. Just a basic black face mask. They put it on, and immediately seemed to relax some.

“Isn’t doing nothing better than doing something you don’t like?” she asked, brown eyes meeting gold for a moment before looking away. “I’m sure you must have plenty of money from Danganronpa, so that’s not an issue.”

“Maybe I was searching for a purpose,” they said, not offering any further clarification.

“I don’t really have a purpose either. I’m not sure any of us do anymore. The world is used to Danganronpa contestants being dead, aside from the survivors. They don’t know what to do with all sixteen of us.” She offered up her theory with a shrug and a yawn. “But we could be purposeless together, I guess. If you want. I meant what I said back then. About...wanting to be closer.”

It was impossible to tell whether Shinguuji was smiling now, but that was okay. Himiko kind of preferred it that way, compared to the vapid grins of last night.

“If you want,” they said right back. “For now, you should get some more sleep. You look tired.”

“I can’t just...go back to sleep and leave you alone though.” She didn’t want them to leave either.

“I don’t mind occupying myself, assuming you’re comfortable with me staying. We can talk more when you wake up.”

* * *

When she woke up, Shinguuji was nowhere to be found. She’d dozed off cuddled up to them on the couch, their hand carding through her hair. Judging by the brighter light streaming through the window, it had to have been at least a couple hours since then. It was understandable that they might not stay in the exact same spot the whole time, but...they weren’t anywhere else in the room either.

They said they were going to stay.

Himiko sat up, stretching. Surely they were around here somewhere. They wouldn’t pull the same disappearing act twice. 

Panic started to bloom in her chest, but the moment she stood up, she spotted a piece of paper on the arm of the couch. She picked it up, eyes skimming over what was written there.

_‘Went to get coffee. I’ll be back soon ❤’_

She smiled, thumb brushing over the carefully inked heart. It was then that she heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing, soon followed by the smell of hot coffee. She glanced up from the note just in time to see Shinguuji entering the room.

“So you stuck around after all,” she said, face aching from the effort required not to smile too brightly.

“Of course. We have lots to talk about. Something about being purposeless together?”

“Yeah,” Himiko murmured. She accepted the coffee cup they handed her, fingers brushing as she did. “Something like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> hdjshjhsj im not satisfied w how i ended this


End file.
